Buck Peters, Ranchman

BUCK PETERS, RANCHMAN

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Title: Buck Peters, Ranchman

Author: Clarence E. Mulford and John Wood Clay

Release Date: May 24, 2013 [EBook #42800]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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Buck Peters, Ranchman

Being the Story of What Happened When Buck Peters,

Hopalong Cassidy, and Their Bar-20

Associates Went to Montana

BY

Clarence E. Mulford

AND

John Wood Clay

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR

BY MAYNARD DIXON

SECOND EDITION

CHICAGO

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1912

Copyright

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1912

Published March, 1912

Published April, 1912

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England

ALSO BY MR. MULFORD

HOPALONG CASSIDY. With five illustrations in color by Maynard Dixon. $1.50

THE ORPHAN. With illustrations in color by Allen True. 91.50

BAR-20. Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth and F. E. Schoonover. $1.50

BAR-20 DAYS. With four illustrations in color by Maynard Dixon. $1.35 net

A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers

CHICAGO

Contents

CHAPTER

I Tex Returns

II H. Whitby Booth is Shown How

III Buck Makes Friends

IV The Foreman of the Double Y

V Comin' Thirty has Notions

VI An Honest Man and a Rogue

VII The French Rose

VIII Tex Joins the Enemy

IX Any Means to an End

X Introducing a Parasite

XI The Man Outside

XII A Hidden Enemy

XIII Punctuation as a Fine Art

XIV Fighting the Itch

XV The Slaughter of the Innocents

XVI The Master Mind

XVII Hopalong's Night Ride

XVIII Karl to the Rescue

XIX The Weak Link

XX Misplaced Confidence

XXI Pickles Tries to Talk

XXII A Ministering Angel

XXIII Hopalong's Move

XXIV The Rebellion of Cock Murray

XXV Mary Receives Company

XXVI Hunters and Hunted

XXVII Points of the Compass

XXVIII The Heart of a Rose

Illustrations

So she stood, silently regarding him . . . Frontispiece

(missing from source book)

The rifle belonging to Hopalong never missed—and besides, he had made his wish

Rose flung herself from the saddle and ran to him

As he spoke he hurled his horse against Hopalong's, while his right hand flashed to his hip

Buck Peters, Ranchman

CHAPTER I

TEX RETURNS

Johnny Nelson reached up for the new, blue flannel shirt he had hung above his bunk, and then placed his hands on hips and soliloquized: Me an' Red buy a new shirt apiece Saturday night an' one of 'em 's gone Sunday mornin'; purty fast work even for this outfit.

He strode to the gallery to ask the cook, erstwhile subject of the Most Heavenly One, but the words froze on his lips. Lee Hop's stoop-shouldered back was encased in a brand new, blue flannel shirt, the price mark chalked over one shoulder blade, and he sing-songed a Chinese classic while debating the advisability of adopting a pair of trousers and thus crossing another of the boundaries between the Orient and the Occident. He had no eyes in the back of his head but was rarely gifted in the ways that are strange, and he felt danger before the boot left Johnny's hand. Before the missile landed in the dish pan Lee Hop was digging madly across the open, half way to the ranch house, and temporary safety.

Johnny fished out the boot and paused to watch the agile cook. He 's got eyes all over hisself—an' no coyote ever lived as could beat him, was his regretful comment. He knew better than to follow—Hopalong's wife had a sympathetic heart, and a tongue to be feared. She had not yet forgotten Lee Hop's auspicious initiation as an ex-officio member of the outfit, and Johnny's part therein. And no one had been able to convince her that sympathy was wasted on a Chink.

The shirtless puncher looked around helplessly, and then a grin slipped over his face. Glancing at the boot he dropped it back into the dish water, moved swiftly to Red's bunk, and in a moment a twin to his own shirt adorned his back. To make matters more certain he deposited on Red's blankets an old shirt of Lee Hop's, and then sauntered over to Skinny's bunk.

Hoppy said he 'd lick me if I hurt th' Chink any more; but he did n't say nothin' to Red. May th' best man win, he muttered as he lifted Skinny's blankets and fondled a box of cigars. One from forty-three leaves forty-two, he figured, and then, dropping to the floor and crawling under the bunk, he added a mark to Skinny's secret tally. Skinny always liked to know just how many of his own cigars he smoked.

Now for a little nip, an' then th' open, where this cigar won't talk so loud, he laughed, heading towards Lanky's bunk. The most diligent search failed to produce, and a rapid repetition also failed. Lanky's clothes and boots yielded nothing and Johnny was getting sarcastic when his eyes fell upon an old boot lying under a pile of riding gear in a corner of the room. Keeping his thumb on the original level he drank, and then added enough water to bring the depleted liquor up to his thumb. Gee—I 've saved sixty-five dollars this month, an' two days are gone already, he chuckled. He received sixty-five dollars, and what luxuries were not nailed down, every month.

Mounting his horse he rode away to enjoy the cigar, happy that the winter was nearly over. There was a feeling in the air that told of Spring, no matter what the calendar showed, and Johnny felt unrest stirring in his veins. When Johnny felt thus exuberant things promised to move swiftly about the bunk-house.

When far enough away from the ranch houses he stopped to light the cigar, but paused and, dropping the match, returned the Maduro to his pocket. He could not tell who the rider was at that distance, but it was wiser to be prudent. Riding slowly forward, watching the other horseman, he saw a sombrero wave, and spurred into a lope. Then he squinted hard and shook his head.

Rides like Tex Ewalt—but it ain't, all right, he muttered. Closer inspection made him rub his eyes. "That arm swings like Tex, just th' same! An' I did n't take more'n a couple of swallows, neither. Why, d—n it! If that ain't him I 'm going' to see who it is! and he pushed on at a gallop. When the faint hail floated down the wind to him he cut loose a yell and leaned forward, spurring and quirting. Old son-of-a-gun 's come back! he exulted. Hey, Tex! Oh, Tex!" he yelled; and Tex was yelling just as foolishly.

They came together with a rush, but expert horsemanship averted a collision, and for a few minutes neither could hear clearly what the other was saying. When things calmed down Johnny jammed a cigar into his friend's hands and felt for a match.

Why, I don't want to take yore last smoke, Kid, Tex objected.

"Oh, go ahead! I 've got a hull box of 'em in th' bunk-house, was the swift reply. Could n't stay away, eh? Did n't like th' East, nohow, did you? Gosh, th' boys 'll be some tickled to see you, Tex. Goin' to stay? How you feelin'?"

You bet I 'm a-stayin', responded Tex. Is that Lanky comin'?

Hey, Lanky! yelled Johnny, standing up and waving the approaching horseman towards them. "Pronto! Tex 's come back!"

Lanky's pony's legs fanned a haze under him and he rammed up against Tex so hard that they had to grab each other. Everybody was talking at once and so they rode towards the bunk-house, picking up Billy on the way.

Where's Hopalong? demanded Tex. Married! H—l he is! A strange look flitted across his face. Well, I 'm d—d! An' where 's Red?

Johnny glanced ahead just in time to see Lee Hop sail around a corner of the corral, and he replied with assurance, Red 's th' other side of th' corral.

Huh!' snorted Lanky, "You 've got remarkable eyes, Kid, if you can see through—well, I 'm hanged if he ain't!"

After Red came Pete, waving a water-soaked boot. They disappeared and when Tex and his friends had almost reached the corral, Lee Hop rounded the same corner again, too frightened even to squeal. As he started around the next corner he jumped away at an angle, Pete, still waving the boot, missing him by inches. Pete checked his flow of language as he noticed the laughing group and started for it with a yell. A moment later Red came into sight, panting heavily, and also forgot the cook. Lee Hop stopped and watched the crowd, taking advantage of the opportunity to gain the cook shack and bar the door. Dlam shirt no good—sclatchee like helle, he muttered. White men were strange—they loved each other like brothers and fought one another's battles. Led head! Led head! he cried, derisively. My hop you cloke! Hop you cloke chop-chop! No fliend my, savee?

Skinny Thompson, changing his trousers in the bunkroom, heard Lee's remarks and laughed. Then he listened—somebody was doing a lot of talking. They 're loco, plumb loco, or else somethin's wrong, and he hopped to the door. A bunched crowd of friends were tearing toward him, yelling and shooting and waving sombreros, and a second look made him again miss the trousers' leg and hop through the door to save himself. The blood swept into his face as he saw the ranch house and he very promptly hopped back again, muttering angrily.

The crowd dismounted at the door and tried to enter en masse; becoming sane it squirmed into separate units and entered as it should. Lee Hop hastily unbarred his door and again fled for his life. When he returned he walked boldly behind his foreman, and very close to him, gesticulating wildly and trying to teach Hopalong Cantonese. The foreman hated to chide his friends, but he and his wife were tired of turning the ranch house into a haven for Chinese cooks.

As he opened the door he was grabbed and pushed up against a man who clouted him on the back and tried to crush his hand. Hullo, Cassidy! Best sight I've laid eyes on since I left! yelled the other above the noise.

Tex! exclaimed Hopalong. "Well, I'm d—d! When did you get here? Going to stay? Got a job yet? How'd you like the East? Married? I am—best thing I ever did. You look white—sick?"

City color—like the blasted collars and shirts, replied the other, still pumping the hand. I 'm goin' to stay, I 'm lookin' for a job, an' I 'd ruther punch cows for my keep than get rich in th' East. It 's all fence-country—can't move without bumping into somebody or something—an' noise! An' crooked! They 'd steal th' fillin's out of yore teeth when you go to talk—an' you won't know it!

"Like to see 'em fool me!" grunted Johnny, looking savage.

Huh! Th' new beginners 'd pick you out to practise on, snorted Red. That yore shirt or mine? he asked, suspiciously.

They 'd give you money for th' fun of taking it away from you, asserted Tex. Why, one feller, a slick dresser, too, asks me for th' time. I was some proud of that ticker—cost nigh onto a hundred dollars. He thanks me an' slips into th' crowd. When I went to put th' watch back I did n't have none. I licked th' next man, old as he was, who asks me for th' time. He was plumb surprised when I punched him—reckon he figured I was easy.

Ain't they got policemen? demanded Red.

"Yes; but they don't carry watches—they 're too smart."

Have a drink, Tex, suggested Lanky, bottle in hand. When the owner of it took a drink he looked at his friends and then at the bottle, disgust pictured on his face. This liquor's shore goin' to die purty soon. It's gettin' weaker every day. Now I wonder what in h—l Cowan makes it out of?

"It is sort of helpless, admitted Tex. Now, Kid, I 'll borrow another of them cigars of yourn. Them Maduros are shore good stuff. I would n't ask you only you said you had a—"

D'ju see any shows in th' East? demanded Johnny, hurriedly: Real, good, bang-up shows?

Skinny faded into the bunk-room and soon returned, puzzled and suspicious. He slipped Tex a cigar and in a few moments sidled up close to the smoker.

That as good as th' Kid's? he asked, carelessly.

Tex regarded it gravely: Yes; better. I like 'em black, but don't say nothin' to Johnny. He likes them blondes 'cause he 's young.

It was not long before Tex, having paid his respects to the foreman's wife, returned to the bunk-house, leaned luxuriously against the wall and told of his experiences in the East. He had an attentive audience and it swayed easily and heartily to laughter or sympathy as the words warranted. There was much to laugh at and a great deal to strain credulity. But the great story was not told, the story of the things pitiful in the manner in which they showed up how square a regenerated man could be, and how false a woman. It was the old story—ambition drove him out into a new world with nothing but a clean conscience, a strong, deft pair of hands, and a clever brain; a woman drove him back, beaten, disheartened, and perilously near the devious ways he had forsaken. He could not stay in the new surroundings without killing—and he knew the woman was to blame; so when he felt the ground slip under his hesitating feet, he threw the new life behind him and hastened West, feverish to gain the locality where he had learned to look himself in the face with regret and remorse, but without shame.

In turn he learned of the things that had occurred since he had left: of the bitter range-war; of his best friend's promotion and marriage; and of Buck Peters' new venture among hostile strangers. The latter touched him deeply—he knew, from his own bitter experiences, the disheartening struggle against odds great enough to mean a hard fight for Buck and all his old outfit. Something that in Tex's heart had been struggling for weeks, the vague uneasiness which drove him faster and faster towards the West, now possessed him with a strength not to be denied. He knew what it was—the old lust for battle, the game of hand and wits with life on the table, could not be resisted. The southern range was now peaceful, thanks to Buck and his men, thanks to Meeker's real nature; the Double Arrow and the C80 formed a barrier of lead and steel on the north and east, a barrier that no rustler cared to force. Peace meant solitude on the sun-kissed range and forced upon him opportunities for thought—and insanity, or suicide. But up in Montana it would be different; and the field, calling insistently for Tex to come, was one where his peculiar abilities would be particularly effective. Buck needed friends, but stubbornly forbade any of his old outfit to join him. Of course, they would disregard his commands and either half or all of the Bar Twenty force would join him; but their going would be delayed until well after the Spring round-up, for loyalty to their home ranch demanded this. Tex was free, eager, capable, and as courageous as any man. He had the cunning of a coyote, the cold savagery of a wolf, and the power of a tiger. In his lightning-fast hands a Colt rarely missed—and he gathered from what he heard that such hands were necessary to make the right kind of history on the northern range.

Finally Hopalong arose to go to the ranch house for the noon meal, taking Tex with him. The foreman and his wife did not eat with the outfit, because the outfit would not allow it. Mary had insisted at first that her husband should not desert his friends in that manner, and he stood neutral on the question. But the friends were not neutral—they earnestly contended that he belonged to his wife and they would not intrude. Lanky voiced their attitude in part when he said: We 've had him a long time. We borrow him during workin' hours—we never learned no good from him, so we ain't goin' to chance spottin' our lily white souls. But there was another reason, which Johnny explained in naive bluntness: Why, Ma'am, we eats in our shirt sleeves, an' we grabs regardless. We has to if we don't want Pete to get it all. An' somehow I don't think we 'd git very fat if we had to eat under wraps. You see, we 're free-an'-easy—an' we might starve, all but Pete. Why, Ma'am, Pete can eat any thin', anywheres, under any conditions. So we sticks to th' old table an' awful good appetites.

So Hopalong and Tex walked away together, the limp of the one keeping time with that of the other, for Tex's wounded knee had mended a great deal better than he had hoped for. Hopalong stopped a moment to pat his wolf hounds, briefly complimenting them to Tex, and then pushed open the kitchen door, shoving Tex in ahead of him.

Just in time, boys, said Mary, I hope you 're good an' hungry.

They both grinned and Hopalong replied first: Well, I don't believe Pete can afford to give us much of a handicap to-day.

Nor any other time, as far's I 'm concerned, added Tex, laughing. We 'll do yore table full justice, Mrs. Cassidy, he assured her.

Mary, dish in hand, paused between the stove and the table. She looked at Tex with mischievous eyes: Billy-Red tells me you love him like a brother. Is he deceiving me?

Hopalong laughed and Tex replied, smiling: More like a sister, Mrs. Cassidy—I can't find any faults in him, an' we don't fight.

Mary completed her journey to the stove, filled the dish and carried it to the table; resting her hands on the edge of the table, she leaned forward in seeming earnestness. Well, you must know that we are one, and if you love Billy-Red— finishing with an expressive gesture. Those who love me call me Mary.

Tex's face was gravely wistful, but a wrinkle showed at the outer corner of his eyes. Well, he drawled, those who love me call me Tex.

Good! exclaimed Hopalong, grinning.

An' I 'm thankful that my hair 's not th' color to cause any trustin' soul to call me by a more affectionate name, Tex finished. He ducked Hopalong's punch while Mary laughed a bird-like trill that brought to her husband's face an expression of idolizing happiness and made Tex smile in sympathy. As the dinner progressed Tex shared less and less in the conversation, preferring to listen and make occasional comments, and finally he spoke only when directly addressed.

When the meal was over and the two men started to go into the sitting-room, Mary said: You 'll have to excuse me, Mr.—er—Tex, she amended, smiling saucily. I guess you two men can take care of each other while I red up.

We 'll certainly try hard, Mrs.—er—Mary, Tex replied, his face grave but his eyes twinkling. We watched each other once before, you know.

As soon as they were alone Hopalong waved his companion to a chair and bluntly asked a question: What's th' matter, Tex? You got plumb quiet at th' table.

The other, following his friend's example, filled a pipe before he replied.

"Well, I was thinkin'—could n't help it; an' I was drawin' a contrast that hurt. Hoppy, I 'm not goin' to stay here longer 'n I can help; you don't need me a little bit, an' if you took me in yore outfit it 'd be only because you want to help me. This ain't no place for me—I need excitement, clean, purposeful excitement, an' you fellows have made this part of th' country as quiet as a Quaker meetin'. I 've been thinkin' Buck needs somebody that 'll stick to him—an' there ain't nothin' I won't do for Buck. So I 'm goin' to pull my freight north, but not as Tex Ewalt."

Tex, if you do that I 'll be able to sleep better o' nights, was the earnest reply. We 'd like to have you. You know that, but it might mean life to Buck if he had you. Lord, but could n't you two raise h—l if you started! He 'll be tickled half to death to see you—there will be at least one man he won't have to suspect.

Tex considered a moment. He won't see me—to know me. I 'm one man when I 'm known, when I 've declared myself; I can be two or three if I don't declare myself. One fighting man won't do him much good—if I could take th' outfit along we would n't waste no time in strategy. Th' rest of th' population, hostile to Buck, would move out as we rode in—an' they would n't come back. No, I 'm playing th' stranger to Buck. Somebody 's goin' to pay me for it, too. An' th' pay 'll not be in money but in results. I won't starve, not as long as people like to play cards. I quit that, you know; but if I do play, it 'll be part of my bigger game.

I feel sorry for th' card-playin' population if you figger you ought to eat, smiled Hopalong, reminiscently.

If I 'd 'a' knowed about Buck, I 'd 'a' gone to Montana 'stead of comin' here, an' saved some valuable time, Tex observed.

But as far as that goes, Tex, they can't do much before Spring, anyhow, Hopalong remarked, thoughtfully. An' it's yore own fault, he added. We wanted to send you th' news occasionally, but you never let us know where you was. We 'd 'a' liked to hear from you, too.

Yes, I reckon I 've got time enough; besides, I need th' exercise, agreed Tex.

How is it you never wrote? asked Hopalong, curiously.

Tex left his seat and walked to the door. Take a walk with me—this ain't no place to tell a story like that.

I 've got somethin' better 'n that—I want to go down to th' H2 an' see my father-in-law for a couple of minutes. Never met him, did you? We can ride slow an' have lots of time. Be with you in a minute, and Hopalong hastened to ask his wife if she had any word to send to her father. He joined Tex at the bunkhouse, now deserted except for Lee Hop, and in a minute they left for the H2. As they rode, Tex told his story.

"This is going to be short an' meaty. When I left here I struck Kansas City first, then Chicago, spending a few days in each of them. I 'd heard a lot about New York, an' headed for it. I had n't been there very long before I met a woman, an' you know they can turn us punchers into fool knots. Well, I courted her four days an' married her—oh, I was plumb in love with her, all right. She was one of them sweet, dreamy, clingin' kind—pretty as h—l, too. I had a good job by then, and for most a year I was too happy to put my feet on this common old earth. I never gambled, never drank, and found it not very hard to quit cussing, except on real, high-toned occasions. But I never could get along without my gun. Civilization be d—d! There 's more crooks an' killers in New York than you an' me ever saw or heard of. Once I was glad I had it—did n't have to shoot, though. Th' man got careless an' let his gun waver a little an' was lookin' at th' works in mine before he knowed it. He did n't want no money—what he needed was a match, an' he was doin' it to win a bet—or so he palavers. I takes his stubby .32 an' kicks him so he 'd earn that bet, an' lets him go. I had to laugh—him stackin' agin me at that game!

"Well, I got promoted, an' had to travel out of town every two weeks. I 'd be gone two days an' then turn up bright an' smilin' for my wife to admire. Once I was wired to come back quick on account of somethin' unexpected turnin' up, an' I lopes home to spend that second night in my own bed. I remember now that I wondered if th' wife would be there or at her mother's.

"She was there, but she was n't admirin' me. I saw red, an' th' fact that I did n't go loco proved that I ain't never goin'. But th' trigger hung on a breath an' he knowed it. He was pasty white an' could n't hardly stand up. Then th' shock wore off an' he was th' coolest man in town.

"'What are you goin' to do about it?' he asks, slowly. 'Yore wife loves me, not you. She 's allus loved me—you never really reckoned she was in love with you, did you?"

"I was shocked then, only I was wearin' my poker face an' he could n't see nothin'. 'Why, I did think, once in a while, that she loved me,' I retorts. 'I certainly kept you hangin' 'round th' gutter an' sneakin' in, anyhow. When I get through with you they 'll find you in that same gutter.'

"'Goin' to shoot me? I ought to have a chance. I ain't got no gun—you see, I ain't wild an' woolly like you,' an' he actually grinned!

"'What kind of a chance did I have, out of town an' not suspectin' any thin'?' I asks.

"'But she loves me; don't you understand? She was happy with me. What good will it do you if you kill me an' break her heart? She 'll never look at you again.'

"'I reckon she won't anyhow,' I retorts. 'Leastwise not if I can help it. Look here: Don't you know you deserve to die?'

"'That's open to debate, but for brevity I 'll say yes; but I want a chance. I gave you a chance every time I came here—you did n't take it, that's all.'

"'I 'll get you a gun, d—d if I won't,' I replied, an' backed towards th' valise where my big old Colt was. But he stops me with a sneer.

"'I said a chance! You was born with a gun in your hand, an' it 'd be pure murder.'

'I 'm glad somethin 's pure,' says I. Then I remembered that old valise again. Remember th' last thing I did for you an' Peters before I quit, Hoppy?

Hopalong thought quickly. Yes, you an' Pete put in two days settin' poisoned cows in th' brush on th' west line. Did a good job, too. Ain't been bothered none by wolves since.